


Personal Affairs

by MegaSilver



Series: Tragedies and Triumphs [1]
Category: Mighty Morphin Power Rangers, Power Rangers, Power Rangers Zeo
Genre: Adventure, Drama, F/M, Forced Marriage, Gen, Moving
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-25
Updated: 2014-08-26
Packaged: 2018-02-14 17:21:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2200377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MegaSilver/pseuds/MegaSilver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As Tommy tries to move on from Kimberly and the Rangers continue to push back the Machines, Kimberly, herself, has a new boyfriend and tries to settle into to a normal civilian life in Florida. After Rita's death, however, Zedd is determined to ensure that Kimberly's new life will be anything but normal. Sequel to "The Replacement."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> _**Disclaimer:** Saban owns Power Rangers and all related characters; Bedazzled is owned (I think) by 20th Century Fox. I, however, own Brendan, Cindy, and Marlene—do not take them without my permission._
> 
>  
> 
> _**Continuity:** Sequel to “The Replacement,” which was an alternate ending to “There’s No Business Like Snow Business.” References made during this story suggest that the meat of it takes place during “Inner Spirit,” etc., which would have to mean that the events of those episodes occurred AFTER “A Season to Remember” even though they aired before. (And to me, it makes more sense to have the latter immediately follow “There’s No Business Like Snow Business,” since it was established to already be winter in that episode and Christmas is right at the start of the season.)_

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rito and Goldar are summoned back from their sunny stint as police pets for the funeral of their Mastress. But Zedd doesn't seem to care nearly so much as they do.

Rito and Goldar greedily eyed the plates of yummy goodies on the counter of the kitchen in the Angel Grove Police Station. Just as Rito was about to attack a tray of orange-cinnamon-nutmeg cookies, he felt the hand of a coldhearted cop on the back of his neck. “OW!”

From behind, Farkas Bulkmeyer grabbed the both of them and pulled them up so he could glare at them. “All right, you two. You heard what Lieutenant Stone said, right?”

“Ack! Yes!” screeched Rito.

“He said Skull and I were to guard these treats at all costs. And that means if anything happens to them, he’ll kill us. And if _we’re_ dead, who’ll be around to feed you?” He darted his gaze back and forth between the both of them. “HUH??”

“Euh… no one!” whimpered Goldar.

“That’s _right_!” Bulk released his grip. “So what are you going to do while I go help Skull set up the ballroom for the Christmas party?”

“Guard the treats?”

“EXACTLY!” Bulk shouted. Noticing a comparatively smallish brownie on one of the plates, he snatched it, popped it into his mouth, turned and marched out of the kitchen.

As soon as the door slammed shut, Rito cowered in the corner. “Oh, Goldie, how are we ever gonna live through the afternoon?”

“Simple: don’t eat the treats, nitwit!” Goldar snarled.

“But I’m a _skeleton_! I don’t hold in food; that’s why I’m always hungry!”

“Quit your whining!”

Suddenly, the room went dark. Lightning and thunder shot back and forth and a portal opened, through which stepped Master Vile. “Indeed, quit your whining!” snarled the evil patriarch. “And what do you think that’s been like for your parents? You know, _most_ children have quit being poop machines by age twelve!”

“GAAAA!” screamed Rito and Goldar, not recognizing the towering figure before them.

“Goldar, save me!” whined Rito.

“No, I need to be saved myself!” Goldar whimpered.

Master Vile slammed his cane down on the floor. “Shut up, both of you! Shame on you both, acting like spoiled children at this terrible hour! Have you no respect for your fallen sister and mistress? Rito, have you any idea how upset your mother and I are?”

“I don’t even know _who_ my mommy is!” Rito protested.

“Enough of that!” snarled Master Vile. “There will be a funeral service tomorrow afternoon and you will both come with me at once to prepare!”

“No!” protested Goldar. “We’re police pets! If you take us with you they’ll list us as kidnapped!”

“ _You_? Earthlings would make an effort to look for _you_? I’m beginning to wonder why the likes of _myself_ would even have bothered. We’re going, now!”

***

Lady Vile was the spit and image of her daughter, albeit a trifle more aged—although one must take into account that she hadn’t had the benefit of a magic facelift mask—and with a somewhat lower key style of dress and hair. When her husband arrived back at the palace with their son and his comrade in tow, she was blowing her nose and wiping away tears, but at the sight of Rito’s milksoppy antics she quickly forgot her sorrows and stood up, infuriated.

“I can’t believe this!” she snapped in a voice less shrill but more scratchy than Rita’s. “Rito, you ought to be ashamed of yourself! I have always taught my children to act in a proper, _orderly_ evil fashion. You should know better than to have any truck with infantile mischief making. What is your problem?” When her son only trembled in response, she kicked him in the shin and stared sharply at Master Vile. “Do they even know what happened?” Not waiting for a reply, she grabbed the two idiots by the necks and shoved them into the next room, where a wake was being prepared.

“AAAUGH!” Rito jumped back. “It’s a live body!”

“No, you moron!” Goldar whacked him upside the back of the head. “It’s a _dead_ body!”

“It’s… it’s Rita!”

“Rita??”

The two slowly approached the coffin and beheld their fallen sister and Empress, head neatly resewn onto the corpse. At the sight of her lifeless form, their memories were returning.

_All those summers as kids, suffering under the humiliating effects of the spells she learned with her free time…_

_Ten thousand years in the dumpster with her, then betraying her to the boss…_

_Surprising her with Tengas for a wedding present…_

_Getting whacked with her staff every week after failing to destroy the Power Rangers…_

“WAAAAAAA!” The two comrades embraced each other and sobbed, stopping only when they noticed Lord Zedd looking over them at his late wife.

“My Lord.” Goldar bowed before his Emperor and took his hand. “I was rarely on good terms with her. But I am deeply sorry about your loss.”

Zedd jerked his hand away and said nothing. He didn’t glow. He didn’t even growl. He just stared at the two for a few moments before walking away.

**TO BE CONTINUED…**


	2. The Grand Commencement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kimberly is flying high at international gymnastics exhibitions... and running into some old friends who happen to live nearby. But despite their encouraging words, her inner tension between past and present is only accentuated. Meanwhile, the Vile family loss gives way to an ever hotter affair...

Kimberly Hart, USA, stood at the corner of a huge floor in a stadium in Copenhagen, Denmark. Around her, crowds went wild but their voices did not register in her head. Nor did she recall the name of the event she was competing in. All her brainpower was focused on clicking together the moves she was about to execute for the vault.

The competition was tight. Ivanna Petrov of Ukraine, the gymnast to beat, had just scored a 9.8. But that didn’t worry Kimberly.

_I practiced for a 10._

Moments later, the buzz came. Kimberly took off running.

Sprint. Roundoff. Back handspring. Another back handspring. Leap. Three hundred and sixty degrees.

Sixty seconds later, standing on a corner of the mats, her arms up in the air, Kimberly gradually became conscious of her surroundings. The cheers of her compatriots—her family somewhere among them—flowed into her head and made her heart thump even louder and faster. Her breathing became heavy as she stared across the room at the judges’ table, where the scoring cards were ascending.

9.6—10—9.8

_I did it._

The cheers became louder and more enthusiastic. Out on the side, Coach Gunther Schmidt called, “Kimberly, you’ve done it! Next stop: Global Games 1998!”

_I won. I won first place. I won first place at my first international exhibition._

***

Kimberly stood in the middle of the gym floor clutching the trophy to her chest as the crowds began to dissipate, too overwhelmed to be aware of her surroundings until she heard a voice call out her name. She looked around and saw her parents, stepfather, brother and maternal grandparents rushing out to greet her, followed by—

“AAAAAAH!” Kimberly screamed, clasping her hands over her mouth. Along with her mother, father, brother, and grandparents came who else but Jason Scott, Zack Taylor, and Trini Kwan.

“Oh, my gosh, what are you guys doing here!” exclaimed Kimberly, jumping down from the block and hugging Trini.

“We didn’t have anything scheduled for a few days,” explained Zack as Kimberly embraced him, “so we thought we’d make it a weekend and catch a train up to Copenhagen!”

“It is so good to see you all!” Kimberly squeezed Jason.

Jason smiled and gave her a hard pat on the shoulder. “You too, Kim. Congratulations!”

“Kimberly?” The victorious athlete whirled around to face her mother, Kris Rougé. “What about your family?”

Kimberly laughed and rolled her eyes. “Oh, Mom,” she sighed, hugging her mother.

“Congratulations, Kimberly,” said her father, Terrance Hart, offering his daughter a bouquet of twenty-four roses. “One dozen from each side of the family,” he added as he kissed her on the cheek.

When she had taken hugs and congratulations from the rest of her family and from her coach and teammates, Kimberly turned once more to her longtime friends. “Guys, I really want to catch up. How long are you going to be here?”

Zack looked at Trini. “We have to leave Monday, right?”

Trini nodded. “We have to be at a seminar back in Geneva on Tuesday morning and it’s a long train ride.”

“Okay,” said Kimberly. “My family’s taking me out to dinner after I get changed and we have a team lunch tomorrow. After that, I’ll be free. You guys want to go get coffee and go shopping and maybe have dinner?”

“Sure, sounds great!” answered Jason.

“Great! What’s your room phone number?”

“We don’t have one; we’re staying at a hostel. Why don’t you just come by when you’re ready?” Jason wrote the address and directions on a slip of paper.

“Oh, good!” said Kimberly as she looked at the directions. “That’s not very far from where we’re having lunch! I’ll be by around two tomorrow. See you then!”

***

Luciano Pavarotti’s Latin rendition of a familiar Christmas hymn poured softly from the speakers of the trendy but intimate and relaxed café as Kimberly took a well-appreciated sip of a tasty blend of coffee she couldn’t remember the name of.

But it was hot, and right now that was all she cared about. “Oh my gosh, jumping right from Florida to Denmark in December is a killer,” she remarked.

“I’ll bet!” exclaimed Zack, who sat next to her. “Our first winter in Switzerland we thought we were going to die.”

There was a pause as Kimberly put down her coffee cup and sighed contentedly. “Guys, it is _so_ good to see you here.”

“It’s good to be here,” agreed Jason. “If only Billy and Tommy were here, too, it’d be just like old times.”

At the mention of Tommy’s name, Kimberly forced a smile and looked down into her cup. “Yeah.”

“How are they?” asked Trini. “I mean, have you talked to them lately?”

“About a month ago,” answered Kimberly, still staring at her coffee. Finally, she lifted her head to face her friends. “I guess I should tell you guys. I broke up with Tommy.”

“Oh.” Jason seemed a bit surprised, even taken aback, by the news. “When did this happen?”

“Around Thanksgiving. I—I wrote him a letter.” Just saying it made her feel like a bitch.

“A letter?”

Kimberly wasn’t sure if that was an indictment for not calling him instead, but she gave the defense anyway. “I just couldn’t do it over the phone. Every time I’d talked to him in the last few months it had been like there was less I could say to him. I didn’t know…” Her voice trailed off and her lips puckered up.

Trini had a sympathetic look on her face. “It’s okay, Kimberly. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

“No, I probably should,” sighed Kimberly. She just had to explain it to _some_ one from home. “It’s just—when I first went to Fort Lauderdale—or, Broward County, anyway—, I thought I’d just train, compete, get back to Angel Grove, and it’d be like nothing ever happened. But I couldn’t just go slip back in. I’ll be in Florida at least another year and a half before the Pan Global Games. High school will be over. Plus, Coach Schmidt’s already talking about Sydney in 2000. And it wouldn’t be fair to ask Kat—Katherine, the new Pink Ranger—just to give up her place on the team all of a sudden.

“And the more I thought about it, the more I decided I had a new life for me there in South Florida—and it was time to say goodbye.”

A pause. Then, “I did meet someone… someone else, in Florida.”

“Oh.” Her three friends nodded. An awkward silence followed, and Kimberly wondered if they were waiting to arrive at a proper “judgment” of her decision before reacting.

Mustering up confidence, Kimberly sipped a little more of her coffee and qualified. “We’re not—we’ve only just started dating. There’s no way I can tell whether anything’ll come out of it, but… maybe something will. I just felt like… I felt like I was growing apart from Angel Grove and Tommy.” She took another, harder swallow of coffee.

Zack placed a hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay, Kim. We all felt the same way when we left home. You and Tommy were tight, but we’re all still young. People change. But, hey—you can still talk to us about it.”

Kimberly smiled. “Well, I’d hope I can still talk to you guys! I mean, I’ve known you like, forever. Billy, too. I should probably call him.”

“Yeah,” said Trini. “I’d really like to talk to him, too—it’s just too expensive to call often.”

Kimberly sighed again. “So, yeah. I might not be welcome in Angel Grove at this point, anyway.” She laughed a little.

“So you want to tell us who the lucky hunk is?” Zack asked, grinning mischievously.

Kimberly grinned and blushed a little as she pictured her new boyfriend. “His name’s Brendan O’Driscoll. He’s Irish—I mean, he’s from Ireland—with the accent and everything.”

“Whoa, cool!” Zack and the others got wide eyes at that news.

“He’ll be twenty next month. He went to the states after he finished high school a year and a half ago, and he just started taking classes at Broward Community College. He’s a waiter-slash-bartender at this Irish pub we went to one night in Fort Lauderdale.”

Jason leaned forward, frowning. “An underage bartender?”

“Oh, no—you can _serve_ alcohol at eighteen in Florida.” At that, Jason leaned back and looked pensive. Kimberly sensed his protective older brother instincts toward her coming to the fore; he looked like he wasn’t sure he approved. “Come on, Jase. Don’t be such a Puritan.”

“What?”

“He’s not an alcoholic or anything. It _is_ possible to serve drinks and even drink responsibly—not that I do either!”

“I didn’t say anything!”

Kimberly tried in vain not to smile. “I could tell it was on your mind.”

Jason had to smile himself. “All right. It’s just—Kim, you know me. Both of my parents went through detox and I’ve never had anything to drink. I just have to hear the words ‘beer,’ ‘bar,’ or ‘alcohol’ to get a mental image I really don’t like.”

“I understand.” Kimberly rubbed her hands and sipped her coffee. “ _I_ don’t drink, though, and, well, he _is_ a couple years older—but I hadn’t even considered dating him until months after we’d met. Besides… we’re a pretty new couple.”

Jason sipped from his own mug. “I’m sorry,” he offered. “You’ve just changed a lot.”

“What do you mean?”

“When we were younger you were always so bouncy and into all that pink and sweet stuff and—I kind of worried you were a little naïve and some punk would take advantage of that, so I always felt like I should keep an eye out for you. But then, well… everything that happened with Rita and Zedd, and you dating Tommy and now—” He stopped himself abruptly. He had obviously not meant to bring up that last bit.

“Right.” Kimberly nodded.

“… now your gymnastics thing…”

***

An hour later, the girls were trying on apparel in an upscale clothing store while the guys browsed winter sports equipment while down the street.

“Trini, do you think Jason’s kind of mad at me?” Kimberly asked, placing her hands on her hips in front of the mirror. She couldn’t stop admiring the pants she was trying on. The months of intensive gymnastics training had taken the little bit of edge off her waist, hips, rear, and thighs. She looked great, but now she was at the bottom end of the clothing rack. Finding pants or dresses in her size could be a real headache.

“Hmm?” said Trini from the dressing closet. “Why would he be?”

“I don’t know, just… he and Tommy have always been close and—I’m wondering if I don’t look like kind of a traitor now.”

Trini emerged from the closet in a rust-colored silk shirt and a black skirt. “I can see him feeling a little defensive about Tommy. But he’s known you longer. He understands you’ve changed. We _all_ change—especially when we’re apart.”

Kimberly licked her upper lip before removing the purple cashmere sweater she wore and reaching for a green one on the stool beside her.

Trini leaned down to catch her friend’s eye. “Why would you think you’ve betrayed anyone?”

Kimberly hugged the sweater to her chest and swallowed, still not looking directly at Trini. “I feel like I’m a completely different person than I was when I left Angel Grove. It’s not like it was before I was a Ranger, either—now I don’t even care about all those high school dances and clubs and honors and everything. It’s all just happened so fast and now I don’t even want to go back—but I’ve known you guys for years and when I see you now I wonder if I’ve just completely repudiated everything that was so important to me—to the world—for so long.”

Trini rubbed Kimberly’s shoulder. “Kimberly, we’re still friends. And _we’re_ not Rangers anymore, either. Even Billy now, apparently… none of the original team is there. Angel Grove will always be a part of you somehow. If nothing else, it got you into gymnastics and led you to the games. It’s because of that that you are where you are now.”

At last Kimberly looked at Trini. “I guess you’re right. When I look back sometimes I just feel guilty—especially for leaving Tommy, after everything we’ve all been through.” She sighed and pulled on her sweater.

“You just need some time. Understand you’re not in Angel Grove anymore—and you _shouldn’t_ be. You’ll get there eventually. You said yourself you wouldn’t want to go back and break up the Power Team by trying to rejoin. And what’s done with Tommy is done.”

***

“Thanks for the ride, Mr. Hart,” said Jason gratefully as he shook Kimberly’s father’s hand at the railway station the next morning.

“My pleasure,” said her father. “You’ve all been such good friends to Kimberly so long, it’s no problem at all.”

Kimberly hugged each one of her friends. “Bye, guys. Thank you so much for coming! It really meant a lot to me.”

“Hey, it was a great weekend,” remarked Zack.

Trini smiled at Kimberly. “Good luck with everything, Kim. I know things’ll work out just fine.”

“Thanks, Trini.” Kimberly hugged her friend again.

“Don’t forget to write!” called Jason as the three boarded their train.

When the train had departed, Mr. Hart put his arm around Kimberly’s shoulder and squeezed. “You ready?” When she didn’t reply right away, he nudged her. “Kim?”

“Yeah,” answered Kimberly. She had been lost in thought. There was a lot to be ready for: to leave the terminal, to leave with her father and her grandparents for Munich that evening—and above all to step into her new life. At first she hadn’t been sure which one her father had meant.

***

Ironically on the feast of Christmas, the final bit of dirt was laid over Rita’s casket and patted down. Above it sat a grey headstone reading “R.I.H.”: rot in hell.

As Zedd stood pensively, looking down where his wife lay, Master Vile approached him. “You’ve been perfectly silent for the last three days. I think it’s about time we had a talk.”

Zedd looked his wife’s father in the eye. “I have nothing to say to you.”

“Oh, really? You married my daughter and you failed to protect her! I’d say you have plenty to answer for. I am your father-in-law, and you will pay the appropriate homage due me!”

That did it. “EX-father in law!” Zedd thundered, pointing his staff in Master Vile’s direction. “Now I see exactly where Rita got it from. You and your entire family are the most inept, pretentious, spoiled bunch of hoodlums ever to join the United Alliance of Evil! You can go off and brag about your clan’s pact with Satan all you like, but I know the truth. I know how lazy you’ve become, taking your evil destiny for granted as if it were some birthright. Well, look how much good it did Rita!

“And furthermore, now that I’m free of any yolk to you and your ilk, I intend to start doing something productive with my life! Finster! Prepare Serpentera for immediate departure!” He did an about face and began to march out of the graveyard, but stopped when he passed Goldar. “Well? Are you just going to stand there? Come on!”

Lady Vile caught Rito looking longingly after Zedd’s entourage and grabbed her son by the ear. “Don’t you dare think about going with them again, young man! Barbarian land-grabbing scion, the whole lot of them!”

*******

Serpentera snaked its way out of the M-51 galaxy. Inside, Lord Zedd descended his throne. “Rita’s death is of no consequence,” he spoke coldly.

“What?” asked Goldar, slightly surprised.

“We cannot dwell on bygones. It is time to move on and to regain the former glory of our empire.” Zedd walked past Goldar down the aisle a few feet and gazed out the window. “Finster!” he called. “Set a course for planet KO-35 in the Kerova system!”

“Immediately!” agreed his slavish technician.

Goldar was stunned. He had not seen his master this stone cold in several years—since Zedd had married Rita, in fact. “My Lord, if I may ask what you have in mind… and if I might be of better help if you restored my wings…”

“Oh, we will deal with that in due time,” answered Zedd. “But you are my most loyal subject and I suppose I at least owe it to you to explain my plot.”

Zedd re-ascended to the throne. “First we’ll make a brief stop to pick up a cloaking device so that the Machines can’t detect us in our motor base on the moon. Next, I’ll work on getting a new Empress who will give me what Rita never did: an heir!” He drummed his fingers, pleased at the thought of it. “Finally, we’ll regroup and search for the weakest link in the Machines’ imperial galactic chain—and strike! Once I’ve regained Dark Specter’s confidence, I’ll be able to appeal for royal reinforcements for the reconquest of my rightful fiefdom.”

“An Empress? But my Lord, why base on the moon while you’re searching for a wife—unless… you don’t mean…”

Zedd stood up. “That’s right.” He chuckled. “I’m searching on Earth. I’m setting my sights on Kimberly Hart!”

**TO BE CONTINUED…**


	3. The Invasion Begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kimberly's mundane life is thrust back into action drama as her family is assaulted in Paris. Meanwhile, across the globe, a different set of foes conspire on their own...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _**Disclaimer:** Again, this may be neither politically nor theologically correct. If you are ultra-sensitive, this is not for you. You have been warned. Oh, and the quoted song is by the Divinyls. You know what the name is._

Kimberly stared into the mug in front of her. “So is Les Deux Magots’s hot chocolate _really_ the best hot chocolate in the world?” referring to the café she and her mother were in, an ornate, historic establishment in the sixth district of Paris.

“Well, it’s widely considered the best in the cafés in Paris,” her mother answered. “But I think you’ll be able to find out for yourself if you just drink it instead of looking at it.”

Kimberly grinned and took a sip. “Oh, wow; it’s _really_ good!” She set the mug down. “Oof. For Christmas, Grandma made this amazing Gugelhupf Cake… I’ve got to stop with the chocolate, now. Can’t go back to hard training next week with a coat of winter fat … especially in Florida!” She grimaced.

Kris Rougé laughed at her daughter. “So, you all had a nice Christmas?”

“Oh, totally! _Frigid_ cold in Munich, but really nice. Dave and I hadn’t had a white Christmas since we moved out of Seattle back in 1986!” She sighed. “We’ll spend next Christmas with you guys, I promise.” Not that she was worried about offending her mother; her parents, whatever their faults, had always been very careful to avoid playing their children against each other.

Sure enough, Mme Rougé assured her, “It’s okay. We got you last year.”

Kimberly signed wistfully as she remembered that moment, her mother and Pierre suddenly showing up at the Youth Center only moments after…

… she’d kissed Tommy under the mistletoe they’d hung up.

Quickly, Kimberly backtracked mentally. No use thinking about Christmas 1995 right now. What had they been discussing? Ah, yes—Christmas _this_ year. Back to that.

“I’m really glad I got to see Dad for Christmas, though. After he moved to Boston I started worrying he didn’t care about me and Dave anymore, but… I was so happy when he called and said he wanted fly up to my exhibition, just like that. He’s doing really well. He was even talking about coming to Florida on vacation during spring break.”

***

Mme Rougé nodded hopefully at that news. The lifestyle habits of her workaholic ex-husband were still a delicate subject for her: the flash point for their divorce had been a single incident of betrayal during one of Terrence’s many extended business trips, but her barely-contained frustration with Mr. Hart’s inattentiveness had brewn for years. So when the then-Mrs. Hart had asked for a divorce, she had remarked, “You’ll see the kids one or two weekends a month. It’s not as though anything’s changing in that department. I just won’t be doing you any emotional favors anymore.”

To her sadness, though, Mr. Hart had coped by sinking his head even more deeply into his career as a controller in order to provision as much as possible, materially, for his children, as though this would make up for never spending time with them. Ever the attentive mother, though, Mme Rougé did her best to avoid griping about her children’s father in front of her children, although she could tell that they, too, were frustrated.

But maybe Mr. Hart would come around a bit now that he’d gotten to spend some time with Kimberly on this trip. One could only hope.

***

As Kimberly and her mother worked deep into their hot chocolates, bells began to sound in the tower of the old Abbey of Saint Germain des Près across the street. “My gosh, church bells!” sighed Kimberly wistfully. “It’s so funny, you know… in America—at least in Seattle, Angel Grove or Fort Lauderdale—everything’s so spread out and the only time you hear church bells is if you actually _go_ to Church at the right time. But here, or in Copehnagen or Munich there’s church bells everywhere. Everything just seams together and the bells are just a part of the life of the cities and you can’t go without it—it’d be like something were missing.”

Mme Rougé nodded and smiled. “It’s how big, old cities are. I’d never really traveled much before we moved here—I only saw New York City for four days when I went there with your dad on a business trip—but being here so long you start to think a lot differently about the way you live life. There’s not such a clean break between ‘home,’ ‘work,’ ‘school,’ ‘shopping’…”

“Yeah.” Kimberly grinned. “Will _definitely_ be a culture shock to go back to South Florida.”

“So which is prettier? France or Florida?” Kris had a twinkle in her eye.

Kimberly rolled her eyes. “Oh, Mom, there’s just no comparing! Well… okay, in architecture, France, hands down. And I’m sure if I came in the summer and saw all those vineyards in Gascony you told me about I’d be just blown away. But it’s kind of hard to knock a state where you live under palm trees and go to the beach all year round with this, like, bright _bright_ neon blue sky. Besides, you’ve seen Grandma and Grandpa’s neighborhood.”

By a fortunate coincidence, Kimberly’s paternal grandparents, natives of Munich, held a string of profitable apartments in Hollywood, Florida and lived in Coral Springs, right near Fort Lauderdale, so she was able to board with them while she trained at the Saint Lawrence Gymnastics Center. One thing Coral Springs did not lack was trees.

“True,” Mme Rougé agreed. “And their furniture is _very_ nice.” Most of it was pioneer-style antiques acquired from their friends’ galleries in nearby Dania Beach. “Speaking of Florida, how is everything down there? Besides gymnastics. I haven’t really talked to you that much all year!”

“Oh, I know!” Kimberly breathed. “Umm… _besides_ gymnastics, well…” Her voice trailed off. “Well, there’s school. Doing okay; can’t wait to graduate, just have one less thing hanging over my head.”

“Do you have time to go out at all?”

“Oh, a little bit. There’s these two teammates of mine, Cindy McClintock and Marlene Cristiano—we’ve actually become pretty good friends and we hang out a lot. But I don’t have much time to meet many people at school. I guess it’s better that way, for now… I mean…” There was, of course, one person in her life she had neglected to mention.

“Do you still keep in touch with your old friends? How’s Tommy?”

_Well, I’ll be mentioning it now._ Kimberly was actually somewhat grateful to have this in with which to explain her relationship status. “Tommy… well, see, actually, we’re not together anymore.”

Mme Rougé’s eyes widened. “Oh.” She took a deep breath. “We _haven’t_ talked in a while, then!”

“Yeah, well… actually, we just broke up around Thanksgiving.” Kimberly hesitated, not sure whether she wanted to give more information. Her mother didn’t pry, so she fast-forwarded. “Actually, I’ve started seeing someone else. It’s not… really serious yet—we don’t have a lot of time, either one of us—but he’s really cool and we always do really cool things together, so we’ll just see…”

Mme Rougé smiled. “Well, one month later I find out, and I live across the ocean from you… I guess that beats the three months you took to introduce me to Tommy and then another two months to tell me you’d been dating him—when you lived with me.”

Kimberly rolled her eyes. “Oh, Mom.”

“Kimberly, look. I know you spent a lot of time with Tommy, and I know you weren’t doing anything bad. Honestly, I liked him a lot. Still, it _was_ just a little perturbing that you dated Tommy for almost three years and that in the two years I was there I only saw him a total of five times.”

“Well, I was really busy; you didn’t see all that much of _me_ , either!”

“True,” conceded Mme Rougé. “Gymnastics and everything.”

“Yeah. Kimberly grinned to herself and finished off her hot chocolate. _And everything._

“Listen, Kimberly,” began Mme Rougé, “I know I’m not really in much of a position to be trying to be a positive influence on how you handle your relationships. But I just want to say that I think you’ve done pretty well steering through them. It’s high school; stuff ends, and you realized it was over with Tommy when you moved across the country. If you stay objective like that I won’t worry about whom you’re with. You’ve been a very good girl these past six years; I know things have been rough with the divorce and all—”

_And all_ , Kimberly thought ironically.

“—but you’ve really coped with everything well. When I found out you were going to Florida I was worried about you being so far away from your friends, but now I think you’re doing okay. I know you’ll have a good life.” Mme Rougé put a hand on her daughter’s hand. “And I know you’ve made some tough decisions, and even though you’re strong, some days it gets hard.”

“You’re right,” Kimberly agreed.

“But don’t feel bad about anything.”

  1. Images of her friends and of the Power Team flashed through Kimberly’s mind. “It’s really hard not to feel bad sometimes,” Kimberly admitted. “I wouldn’t be here—I wouldn’t have gone to Florida if it weren’t for my friends. I probably wouldn’t have gotten through this all if they hadn’t been there with me when things got rough. I owe the life I have now to them… and… it’s just kind of sad, I mean… being in Europe and even just in Florida everything is so different and my friends aren’t in this new life they’ve helped me to get and it’s like there’d be no place for them in it.” She frowned a little bit.



“Kimberly.” Mme Rougé leaned in a little closer to her daughter. “How long had it been since you’d talked to Jason, Trini or Zack before you saw them the other week?”

Kimberly’s eyes went wide. “I don’t even remember!”

“But did you have a good time with them?”

Kimberly didn’t even have to think. “Morphenomenal!” she breathed. She blushed when she saw the puzzled look on her mother’s face. _Oops._ “It was… more phenomenal than anything in the last eight and a half months! I _loved_ seeing them in Copenhagen like that.”

“See? That’s how good friendships are. You can set down the glass when you need to go off for a time, and when you come across it again you pick it back up and it’s still just as good as ever.”

Kimberly nodded and smiled. Maybe her mother was right. But pick up the friendships… she had no intention of moving back to Angel Grove soon. All her family was out. Even the Campbells were out. And what if everyone back home felt bad for Tommy and thought Kimberly a mere selfish bitch…?

“So do I at least get to find out your new boyfriend’s name?”

Kimberly laughed a little, grateful for the well-timed cut into her thoughts.

***

Five hours later, having concluded their annual mother/daughter after-Christmas shopping spree—albeit a couple of days later this year than their traditional date of 26 December—newly relocated from the Angel Grove Galleria to Le Bon Marché on the Left Bank of Paris, Kimberly and her mother strolled down the Hausmannian Boulevard Raspail, the crisp evening Parisian air perfectly complementing the gay Christmastide lighting scheme.

“Ah,” remarked Mme Rougé, spotting a bakery. “Better get a couple of baguettes before the bakeries close!” Kimberly waited outside, and when her mother returned she found her daughter sporting a nice pair of shades.

Mme Rougé laughed. “Kimberly, it’s nighttime! Why on Earth are you wearing sunglasses?”

Kimberly grinned toothily. “They just look cool!” she admitted. “Come on, my grandparents got me Christian Dior _lunettes de soleil_ for Christmas and you expect me to wait until I’m back in Florida to use them?”

Mme Rougé sighed and shook her head, still chuckling. “Well, I’m glad to see you’re practicing your French, at least,” she joked as they resumed the path.

“Yeah, like all the ten words I know.”

“My French isn’t quite what it should be,” admitted Mme Rougé. “I took six years between high school and college and never used it again until I met Pierre. Living here has helped, but we still speak English with each other almost all of the time.”

Kimberly removed the sunglasses and put them back in her purse as the pair began walking again. “Dave seems to be learning pretty well, though,” she remarked.

“Oh, of course. It’s a lot easier when you’re younger. Plus, he needs to transition into a Francophone school, so he’s under a lot of pressure to learn it fast. Maybe it’d help if I had a job. After all I’ve been enjoying this place for a year now, and Dave’s beginning to get settled in; I think I could stand to go back to work soon.”

Very soon they crossed Boulevard Montparnasse and made their way to the building on the corner of Boulevard Raspail and Rue Léopold Robert, where the Rougés lived. It was a cozy, charming classic place where Pierre could paint in peace after getting off his day job as an assistant curator at the Musée d’Orsay. And though the bustling Latin Quarter and the cinemas of Montparnasse were just around the corner, this particular area was normally nice and quiet.

Today, however, the place was anything but calm as they walked up. Mme Rougé gasped at the sight of police cars and ambulances at the entrance to the building.and scrambled to look for an officer who didn’t look like he had his hands full. “ _Excusez-moi! Qu’est-ce qui s’est passé ici? Mon mari et mon fils—_ ”

“ _Madame, calmez-vous_ ,” answered the officer. “ _Vous habitez ici?”_

“ _Oui! Ah… il faut—je dois trouver mon mari et mon fils. S’il vous plaît, aidez-moi !_ ”

Hearing her mother try to communicate with the cop in a foreign language only added to the sense of besiegement and helplessness Kimberly felt now. She had no idea what had happened and until someone could get through her mother’s halting French and her mother could relay it to her in English, she would remain in the dark. Shivering in the cold, crisp European air, she whirled her head back and forth, doing the only thing she could think to do: search manually.

Her search paid off. “Mom, there they are!”

“ _Merci, monsieur!_ ” Mme Rougé bade the officer she was speaking with. The two ran over to join the rest of the family, Mme Rougé practically jumping into her husband’s arms. “Oh, Pierre, what happened? Davey, are you okay?” Her husband had a black eye and a paramedic was slipping her son’s arm into a sling.

M. Rougé looked and sounded like he was still a bit shaken up. “Someone knocked on the door. When I answered, there were two men in masks. One of them struck me on the side of the face with a crowbar. David was right behind me and his partner struck him on the arm. They searched the apartment and left—they didn’t take anything. But when they were going, some other people went out into the hallways to investigate; they struck them as well.”

Mme Rougé looked disgusted. “What kind of sick fuck would club a kid?” Kimberly heard her whisper to her husband, not as discreetly as she perhaps was trying for.

***

After sunset, two vengeful-looking young men stood before a translucent black orb facing a wall in a back alley of a dinghy _cité_ tenement building in the northern Parisian suburb of Saint Denis. Within moments, violet lightning shot across the wall and gave way to a communications portal—with Zedd’s face inside.

“Yes?” the evil menace snarled.

“You owe us money,” said one of the boys with a thick working-class accent.

“Oh, I don’t think so! You get the money _after_ you deliver the girl.”

“She wasn’t there. It was necessary to arrest the project.”

“And do you think I care? You are under contract here! You don’t get paid until you fulfill your end of the bargain. Now try again!”

“We can’t. The police will be ready if we go near her now! You gave us a name, an address, and a picture, not a list of times.”

“Then you can kiss this client goodbye!” With that, the portal closed.

Infuriated, one of the two young men smashed the orb with his foot. “ _Putain enfoiré!_ ”

***

In his beat-up RV on the moon, Zedd drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “Drat! I always knew these primitive humans would be unreliable for major tasks! If only we could use direct power without being undetected—oh!” He began to glow with anger. “Now I’m actually starting to wish I had a sorceress around to give me advice on spells! FINSTER!”

His fawning but conniving agent slipped into the motor home. “Yes, my Lord?”

“You wouldn’t be familiar with any of Rita’s incantations, would you?”

“Somewhat, but I cannot guarantee I’ll have exactly what you’re looking for. I’m a technician, after all; I studied magic only inasmuch as it was necessary to ground Rita in case of an emergency.”

“Well, it would have to be something subtle and short-range, anyway. We can’t afford to project high-powered beams of any sort!”

“All right. I’ll sift through the books I was able to grab before we left the palace!”

“Oh, and one more thing! Can you set up the materialization projectors?”

“I can, but it’ll be slightly risky. Teleportation requires a little more power than the communications portals and there is a small chance that it could be detected.”

“How small of a chance are we talking?”

“Well, the Rangers or the Machines would have to be on guard, actively looking for unusual energy signatures and happen to cross the exact frequency during the moment in which one of us passed through. It’s a small risk, indeed, but in the circumstances I don’t want to lie about it.”

“Well, we’ll just have to take that risk!” Zedd was set on Kimberly. Nothing was stopping him.

***

_“I love myself, I want you to love me_ __  
_“When I feel down, I want you above me_ __  
_“I search myself, I want you to find me_ _  
_ _“I forget myself, I want you to remind me.”_

A strange mixture of tunes—though all conspicuously modern, and most of them fairly risqué—from rock to pop to Death Metal boomed throughout the funky club in San Francisco as the partygoers, themselves unusual, danced the night away. The place attracted such a bizarre crowd that scarcely anyone acted surprised at the two evil space aliens that had just entered to mingle among them. In fact, guys were patting Master Vile and Rito Revolto on the backs, girls inviting them to dance, and waiters offering them cocktails as though they fit right in.

And, much to his father’s consternation, Rito looked to be succumbing to the wily charms of one particularly odd but potentially gorgeous young lady.

“Knock it off, Rito!” Master Vile scolded.

“Aww, Pops! Can’t I have a little fun while we’re down here?”

“Out of the question! We’re here to work!” Dragging the spoiled brat along, he proceeded to the back of the joint and downstairs to the main office. He knocked on the door.

“Come in!” bade a cheerful female voice. Master Vile opened the door. Inside a beautiful brunette woman sat in a swivel chair behind a desk reading a paper, right leg crossed over left, sporting an attractive little red dress and red Prada high heels. At the sight of her clients she stood up and smiled pleasantly. “Oh, it’s you! Master Vile, isn’t it?” She spoke in an accent clearly originating in the south of England. “It’s been so long!”

Rito scratched his head. “Wait a second—who are you? I thought we were coming to see…”

“You mean… he didn’t tell you?” the woman asked. “I’m the Evil One. The Tempter. The Deceiver. Old Nick—or Nikki, if you prefer. _The devil_.”

“But… I thought you’d be a man!”

The devil laughed, walked over to Rito and caressed his chin. “Oh, silly, I’m whatever people want me to be! I just happen to find this to be one of the more palatable forms to most of them. So far I meet with a fair amount of success these days.” She licked her lips and then lost her smile. “Unlike _some_ beings I know,” she muttered, glancing upwards.

“You mean…?”

“God? Yes.” The devil rolled her eyes. “So eternal, so static, so… _inflexible_. Ever since the dawn of time He’s thought He can demand that souls come to Him on His terms. I, on the other hand, am one step ahead. I go to people as they are; they come to me as _they_ are. That’s why I get more souls to follow me; it’s just easier for them to do all they want.”

Rito looked puzzled. “And so… when they come to you, then they follow you to hell for all eternity?”

“Well, no deal can be all positive, now, can it?” Re-donning a smile, the devil turned to Master Vile. “Really, darling, how are you?”

“Not so well, I’m afraid! My daughter Rita has just met an untimely death—and we suspect foul play!”

The devil frowned. “Oh, I’m so frightfully sorry to hear it! Do you have any leads?”

“If my instincts are correct, it was almost certainly that impotent husband of hers! Her mother always told her to pick a respectable cosmopolitan slime bucket! Why she ever married that landed savage is beyond me.”

Tsking, the devil shook her head. “You know, you have to watch out for that male sex. Nothing but trouble, that’s what they are.”

“Hey!” protested Rito and Master Vile.

“Present company excluded, of course,” she qualified, smiling.

“Anyway, I’m afraid I have a bit of a bone to pick with you!” declared Master Vile.

“And why is that, now?”

“I sold our souls to you and your service in exchange for our eternal life. And now it appears that one of us isn’t holding up her end of the deal!”

The devil cocked her head. “Oh, really?” She slinked over to the desk and picked up a massive handbook. “Darling, had you only read section 8.A.iii, you would have understood that my role in this was merely to guard against such ailments as excessive aging, poor health, frailty or negative interference by my own personal agents. I simply have no control over the free will of non-possessed sentient beings who choose to act upon the lives of others, nor can this pact provide protection against fortuitous accidents or, if you will, acts of God.” She rolled her eyes and let out a puff of air. “But then, no one ever reads the contract.”

“I thought the bold lettering made it clear that this was a soul-for-eternal life deal!”

“Now surely you realized that slogan was polemics. Any successful marketer embellishes the presentation to make his point. That’s why we _read the contract_ between watching the commercial and signing, darling.”

“That is the biggest load of malarkey I have ever heard!” Master Vile thumped his cane on the floor.

“Darling, if you ask me, I’d say just including that information _in writing_ was more than a few steps above my title of ‘Deceiver.’ But frankly, anyone who is deceived has only himself to blame for not exercising due vigilance. I am sorry about your loss, but I cannot do anything about it,” the devil insisted firmly, retaking her seat. “Men die only once, and then comes Judgment! And don’t think that that maxim doesn’t apply to women, as well.”

Fuming, Master Vile started to stomp out of the office. Just as he was about to open the door, the devil spoke up again. “There is… one thing. A loophole of sorts, though I’m not sure you’d be interested.”

“What?” Master Vile faced her once again. “Of course I’m interested! Spit it out already! I don’t have all day!”

“If your reports are correct, Rita died in a state of grave sin. Accordingly, any chance at eternal redemption has expired and someone must pay the eternal debt of hellfire for her iniquities. However… there is no reason why it has to be Rita herself.”

Slowly, Master Vile approached the desk. “Are you saying we can offer a sacrifice to revive her?”

“In a word, yes. It won’t redeem her soul; only a perfect soul could cover the sins of another, and only before death. You can, however, make an imperfect sacrifice to bring her back into this realm—though of course if she dies again without reconciling, she’ll go right back to hell. Not that that bothers you, I’m sure, but you’ll need to find a sacrifice to cast forever into the lake of fire. By that, I mean something sentient and _souled_ ; not one of your artificial monsters or—what do you call them?—Tengas.”

“Aww, gee, Pops!” sighed Rito. “How are we ever going to get one of _those_?”

Master Vile just stared at his son. The devil noticed his gaze and began staring at Rito as well. Rito darted his glance back and forth between the two of them.

“Uh-oh.”

**TO BE CONTINUED…**


	4. Irish Fanaticism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Vile family gets wind of Zedd's plot. But even as Kimberly and her grandparents head back to Florida, her boyfriend's family is about to suffer the same fate as hers...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _**Disclaimer:** Okay, this is where I shift gears. This story is now rated “R,” but really only because the F-bomb will show up more than once. “The Well Below the Valley” is a traditional Irish (“Trad”) tune, the authorship of which I cannot determine. Please read and review! I rewrote a large portion of this chapter for the re-release and I’m quite pleased with how it turned out. There’s a lot of my old life in Florida wrapped up there._

“AAAAAAAAAUGH!”

The demons held on to Rito as tightly as they could on the suspension bridge over the dark sacrificial pit in the sub-level, but in spite of his idiocy he was quite strong and resisted their attempts to toss him over.

“But why are you doing this to me?” he whined to the devil.

“Really, dear, it’s not me,” she replied apologetically. “I’m just the enabler! You’ll find there is very little I can do without the consent of the natural beings in this universe.”

“But—AAAUGH! I don’t wanna die!”

Master Vile moved closer to his son. “Rito, my boy, I’ve always told you to do something useful with your life and now you finally have your chance! Just give in and get ready to go home so your sister can be with us once again!”

“NOOOOOOO!!!” Rito shrieked in a rather shrill pitch. With a surge of brut strength, he finally threw off the grip of the demons who had seized him. One of them fell against Master Vile, who was tall enough that his center of gravity went higher than the rope ledge of the bridge—and so that little horizontal force was just enough to bring it out from over the floor of the bridge, as well.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!” The endless scream became lower and softer and finally vanished as Master Vile fell through the bottomless pit.

“Dad!” cried Rito.

Briefly the devil looked in after the fallen dark master, shaking her head. “Oh, my. I seem to have forgotten.”

“Forgotten...? What did you forget?”

“The sacrifice has to be consensual. No matter how long and hard those demons pushed, they never could have thrown you over. You didn’t want to go. I guess your father must have wanted your sister alive badly enough that it suddenly occurred to him that perhaps he ought to be the sacrifice—and presto! Just at that moment, _he_ was thrown into the pit.”

She tossed her hair and smiled at Rito. “But actually, I didn’t forget. I just didn’t say anything; I’d never actually tried that before and I thought it would be interesting to watch.”

“You’re so bad!”

“Oh, thank you!” The devil reached into her purse and donned a pair of white gloves before removing a metal crucifix from a small box. She made a face. “This is the part I hate.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because this is the part where I have to pray!” She held the crucifix up high and cleared her throat. “Almighty God, Creator of the Universe, I, Patroller of this Earth and Guardian of the Lake of Fire, do beseech and implore Thee that by this imperfect and eternal sacrifice Thou wouldst grant temporal reprieve to one eternally departed in shame! Rita Repulsa of Vile, _arise_!”

***

That evening, a Lamborghini Diablo came to a graceful halt on a back road in some woods on the outskirts of the Bay Area. Inside, Rita Repulsa looked back from the passenger seat and glared. “You’re _sure_ the craft is hidden around here?”

“Umm… yeah, I’m sure!” said Rito.

“Well, I don’t trust your memory half as far as I can throw you!”

From the driver’s seat the devil pointed to a metallic object behind the trees on her right. “Is that it right there?”

Rita squinted. “Why, I believe it is! Rito, you actually got something right for a change!” The two Vile siblings exited the vehicle, but Rita held the passenger door open a minute and looked inside. “Hey, Satan, thanks for the lift!”

“Oh, it was nothing; your father and I go back _so_ far…” She sighed. “I’m _dreadfully_ sorry about him, by the way.”

Rita swallowed, lip quivering. “It happens.”

“Well, come on, then! You and your brother have to carry on in his name. All the best to augment the pact.”

“You’re right,” agreed Rita. She sniffed and wiped away a tear. “Well, anyway, it was an honor finally meeting you!”

“Pleasure’s all mine. You’re much nastier than I had expected, you know!”

“Aww, you’re too kind!” Rita closed the door and waved as the Diablo sped off. Then she marched into the woods, where her brother was tinkering with the ship’s door. “Can’t you get anything to work?” she growled, banging on the door a couple of times. It swung open and they entered.

As the craft broke through the Earth’s atmosphere, Rita gritted her teeth. “Damn that piece of muscle-brained trailer trash! Rito, do you seriously mean to tell me he didn’t even shed one tear at my funeral?”

“Euh… yeah, that’s right! He yelled at Dad and stomped right out—said he was glad to be out of the family.”

“ _Grr._ ” Rita looked out the window as they flew past the moon and noticed something. “WAIT! Stop! I just noticed something. Go back!” At her command, Rito activated the reverse engines. “Yes, that’s it!” Rita looked at the surface of the moon through the ship’s telescope—and beheld a humble motor home. “Well, what do you know? Zedd thinks he can actually do a thing or two without us around to help! Rito, is this thing properly cloaked?”

“Euh, should be!”

“Good.” Rita donned a pair of headphones and aimed a remote digital amplifier in the direction of the trailer.

“ _There’s nothing else I can do_ ,” came Finster’s voice. “ _Unless you want to set off alarms in the Power Chamber upon materializing on Earth, I will have to spend at least another day tweaking this thing._ ”

She heard a monstrous growl. “ _I suppose it will be worth it_ ,” said Zedd. “ _After all, that was my problem the first time: I just wouldn’t see that Kimberly was something worth waiting for!_ ”

Rita’s eyes went wide. “What?” She threw the headphones against the console. “ _Kimmy?_ ” Her breaths were becoming shorter and quicker. “That barbarian miscreant is trying to _court the former Pink Ranger??!!_ ”

“Uh-oh,” said Rito.

***

Down on the moon, Zedd continue to prepare the next phase of his plan, blissfully unaware of the peeping Tina gazing down on them.

“But my lord, I thought you said humans were unreliable!” protested Goldar.

“Not entirely!” Zedd contradicted. “Humans are primitive fools. If you gave them simple, well-defined, specific instructions, you would be amazed at the results you get! Oh, if only I’d remembered that before I started this!

“No matter. This time, I know step by step exactly what I need them to do, and when. I suspect the next few days will be…” He chuckled. “… just a _blast_! I’ve gone far too long without terrorizing anyone!”

***

It was six-thirty AM and still dark on New Year’s Eve just outside of Derry, Northern Ireland. The weather was chilly, but Angus Ferguson was bundled up nicely as he sat beside a pond, puffing away on a cigarette, killing time before he had to clock in at seven. As he tossed the stub into the water and prepared to sit on a nearby rock, he saw his comrade-in-arms, Carson Morris, approaching him.

“Morrow, Angus,” bade Carson. “Got a fag?”

“Aye.” Angus reached into his jacket, took out two fresh cigarettes and handed one to his comrade.

As they sat smoking on a rock, a reddish light began to illuminate the pond. Angus looked behind him to the East but the sky hadn’t begun to redden. Puzzled, he gazed back at the pond, where he noticed the color, increasingly intense now, was a conspicuous red-purple rather than the usual subtle red-orange of a sunrise or sunset.

***

_“A gentleman was passing by_  
He asked for a drink as he got dry  
At the well below the valley-o  
Green grows the lily-o  
Right among the bushes-o”

The balladeer bellowed out the traditional tune as he strummed his guitar at a table in the pub. Were the bartender, Brendan O’Driscoll, less occupied, he might have accompanied with his tin whistle. Alas, tonight Brendan was solo and in front of him a tall red-haired girl was opening her twenty-first birthday party with the Car Bomb: a shot of Bailey’s Irish Cream dunked in two-thirds a pint of Guinness beer and downed immediately before the concoction reacted and began curdling.

Brendan kept one eye on his watch and one eye on the girl as he rooted enthusiastically: “… three… four… five… six… Seven seconds! _Sláinte_!”

After successfully chugging the concoction, the customer began puckering her lips, pounding her chest, and coughing. “Any second and I’m gonna be on the floor!” A nearby friend reached over to prop her up on the barstool.

“Come on now!” Brendan encouraged her. “You did grand! It’s your birthday here; you can’t be well out of it already!”

She wiped her mouth. “I just need some food first.”

“How about some fish and chips? I’ll have ’em make it extra greasy; that’ll fix you up right!”

The girl nodded gratefully, still coughing intermittently.

“Nate! Make it fish and chips—deep-fried with real butter for the sweet colleen here!” Brendan called through the kitchen window as he punched in the order.

It is, perhaps, a bit cliché to describe a young Hibernian immigrant to the States bartending in an Irish pub, but such is life in the world of Irish concept bars. Besides Brendan’s alluring accent—the most obvious asset of a specifically Irish bartender to an Irish pub—, however, his warm personality as well as the speed and precision with which he poured perfect pints of stout had made him an instant hit among the regulars at O’Brien’s Pub in downtown Fort Lauderdale, Florida. The hours were erratic and sometimes exhausting, but nobody did this better than Brendan. Even for a Fort Lauderdale bartender, he made out especially well tip-wise. At just under 20 years old, he had plenty of money to pay the rent, keep a car up, take some community college classes, and support his newly budded romantic relationship.

This line of work put Brendan in contact with a somewhat older crowd, and Kimberly Hart, his girlfriend, was one of the youngest people Brendan knew in the States. He did get a vague impression that most Americans didn’t think highly of teenaged girls in general. Sure, Kimberly fulfilled a few of the stereotypes: she liked to shop, she was giddy, and she was always fixing her hair or makeup, but beyond that she was caring, energetic, dedicated and easy to talk to. To boot, she was definitely a fair lass—and she a competitive gymnast. For some reason Brendan found that latter quality extremely appealing. If Kimberly’s account was accurate, her more positive qualities hadn’t always been so evident, but as Brendan had said in klutzy Irish fashion, “Well, so long as that’s in the past, we’re grand.”

And so long as she kept herself out of the pub, as well. That was another downside of bartending: a man couldn’t look forward to visits from his girlfriend at work like some guys. Kimberly of course wouldn’t try to order alcohol, but her mere presence there—even possibly just eating at one of the tables—could complicate things without her intending it to. As Brendan had put it: “If some eejit starts hitting on you in there, I’ll defend you—and that might cost me that job.” She’d seemed a little uncomfortable with the principle but had been very understanding and willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.

There was one more negative aspect of this job: the occasional shady character. In general they were easy enough to deal with, but from about ten-thirty tonight Brendan began to notice one particularly disturbing one. This guy had that kind of burning expression that one associated with vigilantes or drug dealers in films, which itself wasn’t so scary; plenty of people came in here wanting to look “tough.” This guy didn’t talk; he just sat at the corner of the bar slowly sipping sherry—and seemed to be keeping an eye on Brendan . That was quite unsettling.

Business was slow this evening of New Year’s Day, so the kitchen had closed at ten and Brendan tended solo until the bar closed at midnight. The bloke had remained seated until then. Brendan spent the next fifteen minutes getting the few remaining customers to drink up and another thirty cleaning the area, but he was sure that man would be waiting around somewhere.

He was right. After turning out the lights, he took the front door out, guessing the stalker would figure he’d leave through the back, and cursed himself for parking in the alley behind the pub. He did everything he could to maneuver into it discreetly, but as he approached his vehicle he heard footsteps behind him.

“Oh, _feck_ ,” Brendan whispered. _Come on. Just a few more feet. Just act like nothing’s wrong._

He could handle himself in an ordinary brawl, but schoolyard fights and bar mêlées had nothing on someone following you down an alley, where there was no telling whether he’d have a gun. This man’s physique, moreover, suggested he might well be an ex-Marine. Brendan, on the other hand, stood five feet ten inches and weighed 150 pounds. Suffice to say, this would not be an even match.

Best to avoid blows, if possible.

“Excuse me!” came a deep voice from behind, closer than he had expected. When Brendan kept walking, a powerful hand grabbed his shoulder and whirled him around. The force of the spin confirmed Brendan’s initial assessments of the imparity of their respective strengths. “Hey! I was talkin’ to you.”

Brendan couldn’t be sure, but the accent seemed to resemble those he had heard when he had lived in Brooklyn his first months in the States. Doing his best not to sound scared, he asked, “What do you want?”

“I know what you’re up to with Kimberly Hart. She’s mine. Stay away from her.”

That did it. Brendan’s sweet disposition gave way to the mad working-class Gael beneath. He momentarily forgot his fear and glared. “Bollocks, who the _fuck_ do you think you are?” At that, the thug grabbed him.

Brendan clenched his fists, tightened his chest and breathed deeply. Terrifying as this was, it was long past time to run. The force of the grip made it clear that he was in for a licking, but had to be prepared to at least try to defend himself.

Then, staring into the man’s eyes, he was astonished to see a glow that resembled red eye in flash photographs—only somewhat eerier.

“She’s _my girl_ ,” the man reiterated. “Don’t you talk back to me… and stay away from her! I know people, and I know how to hit anyone where it hurts.” With that, he released the startled lad and marched away.

***

That afternoon, in a Boeing 747 on the runway of London-Heathrow International Airport, Kimberly clenched her fists, hoping her grandparents wouldn’t notice how tense she was. She had flown from Paris that morning to rendezvous with them and fly back to the United States.

Seated by the window now, she had a number of things on her mind, not the least of which was the burglary from several days ago. Although the cops had kept a lookout and the area had been calm since then, she couldn’t stop her recurring troubled feelings. Why had the burglars only searched _their_ apartment? Why had they just left without taking anything? What had they been after?

Perhaps it was ex-Ranger paranoia creeping up, but she couldn’t completely shake the thought that those burglars had been after _her_ —and that there would be a recurrence. But why would they have been after her? Whom did she know that would come after her in France? She’d only been here a week and a half, and she’d never even been in Europe before the last month. Maybe they’d been after her mother—although that thought brought her little comfort.

Also occupying her thoughts was her change of setting. In less than a day she would be back in Broward County, in less than a week back at school and back at practice. Everything seemed all right. But then there would be graduation in just four months… and Kimberly planned to continue on training—if she kept on qualifying—for the 1998 Pan Global Games, but… what about her friends Cindy and Marlene? Good as they were, they weren’t quite up to her level and it was anyone’s guess as to when they would stop qualifying at state or regional levels.

And how would things work out with Brendan? She had told the truth when she told Trini that she hadn’t considered dating him for the first two months, but that had largely been because she had been trying to remain faithful to Tommy. In reality she had always had at least a modest crush on him: she was a girl, he was, so far as she was concerned, a cute guy, and he had an Irish accent.

***

_LAST YEAR_

Kimberly moved to Coral Springs in late February 1996, a little over a week after her seventeenth birthday. All of a sudden, the time she would once have spent saving the world or goofing off with her very best friends was consecrated to gymnastics. That of course was what she wanted. But here and there a little free time popped up and loneliness would start to settle in.

By late June, however, she began to get to know Cindy and Marlene, the only other girls her age training with Coach Schmidt. Cindy, a pretty blonde girl from Boca Raton just a short drive up north, was really sweet, mostly sensible and kind of smart—perhaps not quite as smart as Trini, but still pretty brainy—though at times she could be rather ditzy for a dedicated gymnast with a fairly high G.P.A. Marlene, an Italian-American from Pennsylvania with dark reddish-brown hair, was goofy and good-natured and the sort of girl who, were she not doing intensive sports training, would likely have been a total party animal. Very fast, the three of them clicked, and suddenly Florida had begun to look less glum for the former Pink Ranger.

Hot though it was under the Florida summer sun, the threesome banded together and spent nearly every minute of their estival free time cruising to Disneyworld, to Key West, to Miami Beach, to the Everglades, to (naturally) Aventura Mall or Sawgrass Mills Mall or just over to Hollywood Beach to check out the Broadwalk.

And all of it was wonderful—well, except for Miami Beach.

Just minutes after driving into Dade County, the girls quickly learned how difficult it is to get a parking space in South Beach on a Saturday night. Once they did manage to park, they quickly learned how difficult it is to get into a trendy South Beach club when you’re underage and have no connections—even with a hot gymnast’s body. The only place that would let them in was a karaoke bar where Kimberly didn’t even get to show off her vocal talent before Marlene’s terrible singing voice attracted so many “boo”s that the poor girl couldn’t bear to stay. And once they got back to where they had parked, they immediately discovered how efficiently the Miami Beach cops can tow a car. All in all, an awful night, but definitely a memorable stint that they would laugh at for years down the road.

Throughout all the adventures and misadventures, Kimberly became amazed at how varied and how exciting was the state of Florida: you could drive just one or two hours and be in a totally different world. Sure, there was plenty of variety in California, but it was much more spread out.

Before the start of the school year, Kimberly, Cindy and Marlene convinced Coach Schmidt to intervene so that they could all three attend Hollywood Hills High School for their senior year, which heretofore only Marlene had attended—and Coach Schmidt agreed that it would be better for Kimberly and Cindy to be able to commute rapidly to the gym after school. The girls were thrilled.

To celebrate, on the Saturday night before Labor Day, Marlene got the excellent idea that the trio should break with the diet and go have a traditional Irish fry-up breakfast for dinner at O’Brien’s Pub in central Fort Lauderdale. She further proposed that, while out, they take advantage of one major difference between Fort Lauderdale’s night scene and Miami Beach’s: a great many of Fort Lauderdale’s bars do not card underage clients, hence its ephitet among university-level spring breakers, “Fort Liquordale.”

“Leave it to the Irish to make Guinness a breakfast food!” exclaimed Marlene with a big grin.

“Yeah, and what would _you_ know about what Irish people eat?” asked Cindy, whose father was half Irish, sarcastically.

“Couldn’t do any worse than those ‘Irish Americans’ with their green cream cheese bagels in New York on Saint Paddy’s Day!” Marlene retorted.

“Are you crazy?” Kimberly hissed. “We can’t have beer! We’re already pushing it with all that pig fat!”

“Come on, Kim!” pleaded Marlene. “I’ve been doing gymnastics since I was little and I’ve never even gotten to try starting drinking!”

Kimberly didn’t answer. She just shook her head. Cindy didn’t react, either, indicating that while she wasn’t going to moralize, she definitely wouldn’t side with the beer.

“Oh, okay. You know what? You’re right, anyway. Besides, it’s stout beer, after all—foamy and bitter and the like… I’d probably just throw it all up if I tried it.”

Marlene was actually a really good sport. But her apparent knowledge of the technicalities of beer made Kimberly wonder just how much the girl had read up on alcohols and perhaps even designer drugs—while not daring to try any of them.

At the pub, their server was an affable 20-year-old man from Galway: Brendan O’Driscoll. He and the girls got on pretty well. Marlene, and then Cindy had tried to flirt with him, and when he made a joking remark at Kimberly, Marlene said, “Huh-uh, buddy! She’s spoken for!”

Brendan immediately backed down and apologized. He treated Kimberly with immaculate politeness for the rest of the evening—and, indeed, did the same for the other girls, despite their efforts to continue flirting. But towards the end, his shift was over early for the night—he had asked off—and he came over to say goodbye. The four had a lively discussion about their respective origins and vocations—Brendan’s, as a bartender-slash-community college student; the others, as elite-level gymnasts—and the girls agreed to join Brendan and his friends for a convivial picnic in the northern part of the Gold Coast up north for Labor Day, where there would be less of a crowd than in Broward or Dade County.

The picnic was sensational: wonderful company, great food, and though Brendan and his friends had a bit of beer, they didn’t go at all overboard and they didn’t try to push any of it onto the girls. At one point Brendan took a time out from beach volleyball to catch his breath and sat on the sidelines. A few minutes later, Kimberly noticed he looked a bit lonely and went over to join him, although she herself wasn’t at all tired.

“You having fun, are you?” he asked her with a grin.

“Yep!” she replied.

Brendan reached for the beer case and pulled up a Heineken. “Ahh… if you want—I mean, do you? I mean, I know you’re—”

“No, I can’t. I mean… gymnastics and all, and plus, I’m kinda…” She stopped herself short. Brendan was underage, too, after all.

“Would it bother you if I had one?”

“Oh, no, go ahead! I can drive if need be.”

Brendan popped open the bottle. “Ah, we won’t leave for a couple of hours and I plan on taking it easy.” He nodded towards two of the guys playing volleyball. “Those two… I thought it’d be a miracle if they were still able to play volleyball today! They can slam it pretty well sometimes, but I told ’em to be discreet today.”

Kimberly was really impressed.

They kept on talking, Brendan about his own life—he was quite the adventurer, leveraging connections with his first cousins to emigrate from Galway to New York City right after high school, then coming down to Florida after he decided that the mid-Atlantic winter wasn’t sufficiently warmer than Ireland’s—,and Kimberly about hers. As she talked, though, carefully avoiding the Ranger bit, she surprised herself at how much she actually had to say—she had gone to being a Power Ranger not too long after breaking out of her shallow cheerleader mold and hadn’t really thought about a lot of the other things that had happened. She did find that she talked disproportionately about the past summer in Florida.

Marlene and Kimberly had hitched a ride with Brendan and left Kimberly’s car at Brendan’s place in Fort Lauderdale before picking Cindy up in Boca, but once they had dropped Brendan off, Kimberly really caught hell for her two-hour-long one-on-one talk with Brendan: “So when’s the wedding, huh??”

The next day at lunch, Cindy joined in on the teasing and Kimberly finally told them to clam it. Cindy backed down immediately; Marlene persisted until Cindy calmed her down. But a few days later, the girls began to notice posters announcing the Homecoming banquet and dance. Marlene brought up the question of what Kimberly would do if perchance some guy asked her—“like him?” she whispered, nodding towards a pretty decently built football player walking past?

“You know, there’s only one solution,” said Cindy. “You have to ask Brendan to take you.”

“What?” exclaimed Kimberly. “Oh, come on, guys, don’t start this crap again!”

Cindy shook her head. “No, seriously. You go to Homecoming with an older man, and then every guy in school will be terrified of crossing him. And then you’ll never have to worry that you’ll cheat on Tommy for the rest of the school year!”

Kimberly lightly smacked Cindy on the shoulder. “NOT funny.”

“Okay, well, that last bit, sorry about that. But seriously, Kim, you should think about it. You know someone’s gonna ask you anyway. Wouldn’t it be nice to have a real pretext?”

“Well, I could just… not go.” Kimberly blinked back, shocked at herself. She—not go to a school dance? Once upon a time, she had lived for that junk!

“No! Come on, Kim!” pleaded Marlene. “If we all go we can have so much fun—we’ll all get a limo, go for a nice spin… I mean, if Cindy and I get asked.” She grimaced a bit.

“Oh, come on, you guys will!” Kimberly assured her friend.

“Pleeeeease?” Cindy and Marlene begged at the same time.

“Oh, all right, I’ll give it a try!” Kimberly sighed, somewhat exasperated but actually starting to look forward to the notion.

So, Kimberly called up Brendan that night and explained her situation.

“A high school dance?”

“Yeah.” Kimberly twirled the phone cord nervously.

“Well, I gotta be honest; I’ve seen some of those kids dance and it’s just brutal to watch, but sure, why not? It sounds fun!”

Indeed it was. Marlene and Cindy both had dates, too, naturally, and the limo was sensational.

Brendan was adventurous and street-smart, but in a down-to-Earth kind of way. He definitely knew how to survive and network: she quickly discovered that he knew all sorts of creative and budget-friendly ways to live it up in South Florida, from sailing to student concerts. The trick, he explained, was to talk to lots of people, shop around attentively, and try inexpensive new things whenever possible. It seemed as though he could always survive the natural world, no matter what he woke up wanting to do. He preferred the unknown.

That was definitely a departure from Tommy, who tended more to stick to the things he knew but when he had settled on something he pursued it vigorously. Then, once he was confident he would charge head-on with relentless force, and nearly always come out victorious. In the times of war, this had meant that he would be the Lancelot Kimberly had dreamed of in her youth: her handsome prince on a White Tiger.

But Kimberly was no longer in the war…

Several fairly uneventful weeks passed: lots of training, a couple of video nights with Cindy and Marlene. Then in early November there was a three-day weekend. One week before, Brendan phoned Kimberly to say, “We’re going on a yacht cruise around the Keys next weekend. One place left. You up for it?”

Kimberly was a little nervous going without Marlene and Cindy, but there were other girls on the yacht—it was mostly the same crew they’d gone on the Labor Day picnic with, and the whole weekend turned out just dandy. As for Brendan… well, they just goofed off, talked, ate, laughed, hung out with the others. Brendan was a perfect gentleman and they both took everything in stride.

But when Kimberly got back home and started to dial Tommy’s number to tell him all about it, she found she couldn’t. Suddenly when she thought about Tommy the whole thing seemed too much like a date. Suddenly everything she did in Florida started to seem so… detached from everything else. Like it was set apart. Almost as though nothing else had happened before, or that it had just flown by before setting her down for her new life.

Throughout the following week, Kimberly couldn’t stop thinking about that weekend. Every so often, though, thoughts of Tommy and of her aborted phone call would penetrate and the guilt would kick in. Cindy and Marlene had long since stopped teasing her about Brendan, but somehow, that only made her guilt real rather than some superficial aggravation. In any event she kept putting off the phone call until Saturday, when finally she’d managed to put the weekend out of her mind. But the call ended up being shorter than she’d anticipated and she neglected to tell Tommy a great many details about the trip.

Then Thanksgiving came. Brendan had three old friends visiting from out of town, and he invited Kimberly and Cindy—Marlene was back in Pennsylvania for the weekend—to join them for a post-Thanksgiving banquet at a neat little place he’d heard about up near Boca Raton. Cindy confirmed that it was a decent place. They mostly enjoyed themselves, even though one of the guys was a bit of a rough-mouth—and saw fit to guzzle down an entire pitcher of beer.

Back in Fort Lauderdale, Brendan’s friends went upstairs to the apartment while Brendan stayed downstairs to see Kimberly off. “Listen, ah, sorry about Gerry at dinner. They’re both a bit rough sometimes and I told ’em to take it easy, but I guess Paddy’s a bit better at it than Gerry.”

“It’s okay.”

“But… you know, they’re good friends.” Brendan sighed. “So different here.”

“Really?” Kimberly leaned up against her car.

“Aye. Just what you’ve told me about your guy friends. Just a different experience… I grew up with Gerry and Paddy and if I go back to Galway for a visit I know I’ll have a hundred people to see.”

Kimberly chuckled. “Really? Wow… you know, a lot of my good friends moved out of Angel Grove.”

“Aye?” At Kimberly’s nod, he added, “Do you miss ’em, do you?”

“I do, said Kimberly. _Especially the original core team._ “What I have here in Florida, though… my friendships with Marlene and Cindy… and you, and your friends—it’s just so… different.” And yet somehow it seemed so much more in focus, so much bigger than everything else over the prior seventeen years.

But… how could that be? How could such a tiny sliver of life blossom to such disproportionate importance, especially after two and a half years spent saving the WORLD? Was it just because this was where she was now and it was so different from anything else she’d ever known, or was—

“Well,” breathed Brendan. “I better not keep you too long. You got practice tomorrow, do you?”

“Yeah,” Kimberly nodded. “Coach Schmidt said it would be a good idea if we were still in town. Marlene’s coming back tomorrow night,” she added for no apparent reason. “We’re leaving for Denmark on December 15.”

Brendan nodded. “You’re spending Christmas in France, are you?”

“No, Germany actually. My grandparents still have a house near Munich; my dad and brother are coming with us. Then my brother and I are going to Paris to see my mom and stepdad for New Year’s. And then…” she took a deep breath. “Right back into it all.”

“I see. Ye ah… want to maybe… I mean, all of us, get together, go see a movie or something, before you all go?

Kimberly inhaled deeply. Suddenly memories of her last phone call with Tommy pierced into the moment… “Well, uh, we’re pretty busy with practicing and all…”

“I see.”

… and just as quickly dissipated. “I mean, yeah, we’re really busy, but I’ll talk to Marlene tomorrow night and let’s try to have something set in place before the end of this weekend. I’d really like to get together before…” She swallowed. Before what? Just a casual little Euro-trip. She’d be coming back soon enough.

But a full five and a half weeks without seeing Brendan? Where would be all the affable Irish charm, all the spontenaity…?

Now they were gazing squarely into each other’s eyes. “I really want to see you again before…” Her voice cracked a little and she found herself lean just a little closer to Brendan.

Brendan leaned a bit closer, too, but stopped when he saw Kimberly had stopped and looked downward. Then she looked back upward into his eyes. They were close enough that she could hear his heart beat, and for a moment something seemed strange: she hadn’t expected it to be so easy to look upward into Brendan’s eyes.

He started to lean down toward her. She didn’t try to back away. So their lips met, and they kissed. And kissed some more.

And some more.

Then Brendan pulled sharply away, his eyes tormented with shame. And suddenly Kimberly realized why it had seemed easy to crane her neck upwards to look at Brendan: he was a full three inches shorter than Tommy.

_How could I do it?_ she cursed herself silently.

“I’m sorry!” breathed Brendan. He backed away a couple of steps. A few droplets of rain began to fall.

Her eyes still on Brendan, Kimberly got into the car, started the engine, and pulled out to drive home.

It was a terrible drive: the rain quickly became heavy, and Kimberly’s barely-contained tear overflow did not help her visibility. Once she finally arrived in her grandparents’ garage, she had a hard time recalling any of the details of her trip home—she’d been spaced out, images running through her head the whole time.

_How many people did I kill on the road here?_

She tried to exit the car but couldn’t. Her legs, so powerfully in shape from the months of intensive athletics, wouldn’t move. Her brain was clogged. She’d have to get it together if she wanted to move on.

How fitting. So this was it. Time to choose. Which was bigger to Kimberly, her life in Florida or her life in Angel Grove?

If she could take up the same life in Angel Grove that she had had before leaving, it would undoubtedly be a very, very grand thing.

_Alas!_

If she returned a year and a half from now, could she simply ask Katherine to hand over the powers of the Pink Ranger?

Doubtlessly not.

It would be February before Kimberly could make it back to Angel Grove even for a short visit. Aisha was gone. Jason, Zack and Trini were gone. Billy was no longer a Power Ranger. Her father had left, and then her mother. So little remained of everything she had known and loved except for her mother’s parents, two uncles and a few cousins…

_… and Tommy._

And if Tommy would wait for her for so long, would she herself be able to give up everything she had here, everything that seemed so huge all of a sudden, to have the kind of romance she had had with Tommy?

But could they have that kind of relationship, could they pick it back up after all this—she without the Power, he with?

But if she ruptured with her past, then what would happen? Her foreseeable future was in Florida, ostensibly with Brendan. What about after 1998? What if he had to move back to Ireland? What if he didn’t really want to…?

Nothing was certain. Everything was risky.

But the more Kimberly thought about Tommy, and the Power Rangers, the more she knew there was one thing that was, definitely, over for her.

It was already eleven forty-five, but she did not go inside yet. She just sat in the garage, put her head down on the steering wheel and mourned her loss until after midnight.

When she’d regained control of herself, she went inside and wrote her last letter to Tommy. Besides being emotionally difficult, it was no physical cakewalk, either, since her tears kept smudging the words on the paper. After the third try, she gave up on felt-tip pen and settled for ballpoint.

_Dear God, I’m such a bitch._

She had to write the letter, though. And she had to write it now or she’d be wrestling with it through the Global Games, and worse, lying to herself and to Tommy. Cruel as it was to break up by letter, a phone call would have been crueler still, and a visit was simply out of the question.

When she’d finished the letter, proofread it, sealed it in an envelope, and cried for a few minutes, she headed out the door once more, this time to the post office. She couldn’t risk waking up the next morning tempted to grab it out of the mailbox, to ‘wait a little bit; see how things turn out.’

After returning home after one A.M., brushing her teeth, and crawling into bed at last, she fell asleep with tears in her eyes, terrified she’d wake up wanting to take that horrible parcel back.

That did not happen. She awoke feeling rested, focused, and ready to go to practice. A large piece of her heart did feel hollow, but while it was not a feeling she was used to, it felt right. She now had no reason to doubt that that space was meant to be cleared, that Florida was taking the place that California could no longer hold.

Before leaving her bedroom, Kimberly caught sight of the photograph of her with Tommy on the ferry. She picked it up and, with a wistful sigh, took a photo album from the shelf, removed the photograph from its frame, and placed it in its appropriate chronological position in the album. There would be no ceremonial burning or trashing; she had no such grudge or hatred to warrant such drama. She couldn’t. But as she threw her gym bag over her shoulder and left, one question remained.

_What do I put in that frame?_

***

And now, sitting on the airplane, contemplating those past few months, after having seen her oldest friends and even though they had tried to encourage her, she got those lingering feelings of doubt and guilt—like what if she _was_ a traitor?

As the luxury liner sped down the runway, the thoughts weighed heavily on her mind and mixed with several days’ insomnia to lull her into a peaceful sleep the entire long while to Miami.

***

Upon landing at Miami International Airport that evening Florida time, Kimberly’s grandmother managed to shake her only halfway awake. Kimberly passed like a zombie through immigration, and it was a good thing she had made a list of the things she was bringing back to give to the customs agent, for at first the few words she was able to speak came out as mumbles. Gradually, however, she became more and more alert and by the time the agent let her pass she was fully conscious.

In the main terminal, as her grandparents were preparing to descend the stairs to the baggage claim, Kimberly caught sight of a CNN broadcast on a TV screen in one of the terminal restaurant. They were relaying a BBC segment from earlier that day about an incident in Brendan’s hometown of Galway, Ireland, prompting her to pause and watch. She couldn’t hear the sound in this frenzied jetport, but there were closed captions.

“ _At approximately eleven-thirty this morning, a pipe bomb exploded in this landmark tweed factory near Galway, killing thus far two and wounding at least twenty while causing substantial damage to one of the tweed cap assembly lines. No one has claimed responsibility for the action. Some have speculated paramilitaries from the North; however, investigators have said they are unaware what if any significance this factory would have for either Unionist or Republican causes in Northern Ireland._

“ _Irish President Mary Robinson and Prime Minister John Bruton have issued a joint statement vowing to catch the perpetrators and expressing sympathy to the victims and their families…_ ”

Kimberly’s heart missed a beat as she recalled some words Brendan had spoken once: “Me da? He’s the foreman in a hat factory.”

**TO BE CONTINUED…**


End file.
